


every time we touch it's dangerous

by kelidahauk



Series: crow black dreams [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternative Universe - Yakuza, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Consensual Non-Consent, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Drinking to Cope, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Sex, Excessive Drinking, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings Realization, Grinding, Gun Kink, Hand Jobs, Intimacy, Jealous Kageyama Tobio, Kageyama Tobio is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Kageyama Tobio, Sexual Tension, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings, Tsukishima Kei is a Little Shit, Tsukishima Kei is a Mess, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violent Sex, foes to hoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelidahauk/pseuds/kelidahauk
Summary: 'Fuck me,' Kei thinks, but he doesn’t say it.  'I may love you,' he thinks, but he doesn’t say that, either.  He bites his split lip instead and tastes the blood as it flows between his teeth.“You piss me off,” Tobio continues, “acting like your life is worthless.”“It is,” Kei dares to breathe as the muzzle of the gun caresses his jaw.“Not to me,” Tobio says.The words are a revelation.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei
Series: crow black dreams [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845355
Comments: 23
Kudos: 120





	every time we touch it's dangerous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MONANIK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MONANIK/gifts).



> I need to really point out some content warnings on this fic. Yakuza AU Tsukikage are brutal, you guys. Their relationship is not at all healthy and they are often violent with one another; it works for them. They are both deeply troubled people and this is how they connect.
> 
> Because of the nature of their relationship and their personal trauma, these fics have some problematic content. This one in particular I tagged as being dub con. Kei is very drunk for a large portion of it and it features some depraved sexual acts (involving physical violence and a gun). Please don't read if you think this could be triggering for you. I tried to write it to show exactly how enthusiastic Kei is about the whole thing, but yeah: you can't consent when you're inebriated and Tobio definitely takes advantage of this situation in his anger/jealousy.
> 
> This fic takes place after ["every night I fall again"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26154256) and roughly around the same time as ["the sound of silence."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542211)
> 
> Anyways, enjoy some gratuitous balcony smut, y'all.

Kei’s loft, once bright and welcoming, has turned into a cage. The tall ceilings make it seem cavernous and hollow and the windows taunt them with a breathtaking view of the city that they cannot venture into. Tobio paces the floor like a wild animal with his hackles raised and his lips curled in a half-snarl. Kei grows more and more irritable as he sits on the couch with his computer open on his lap, spending hours on the same report because he can’t concentrate on the words. 

He’s typing the same thing over and over, and Tobio’s pacing the same route over and over, and both of them just want to escape. It’s been weeks since they’ve gone outside. They are not permitted to leave: those are Sawamura-oyabun’s orders, after the shit show with Seijoh. They are trapped inside the loft on house arrest. 

Shatei, low-level soldiers within the Karasuno-kai crime family, deliver their groceries and keep watch outside. Tobio may be Kei’s bodyguard, his shugosha, but now he has his own legion of men to protect him from the sociopathic, vindictive Prince of Seijoh. Kei is equal parts frustrated and bemused that Tobio is getting a taste of his own fucking medicine. He’s not taking it as well as Kei has. 

It’s hot tonight in Tokyo, and that makes their imprisonment even worse. Kei flings open the sliding glass doors to the balcony in irritation, sick of sweltering on the couch, seeking sweet relief. It’s not much better outside and he swears in frustration as he steps out into the night. He closes his eyes and leans against the wrought iron railing, willing a breeze to come by. It doesn’t. 

_I wish we were at the estates._ That’s a damn lie, and Kei dismisses the thought as soon as it occurs to him. Located two hours outside of the city, the Karasuno estates are an idyllic country setting, all swooping black-tiled roofs and steaming onsens. They may be cooler, sprawled out where the wind can whistle through the trees and the fireflies can light up the grounds, but Kei would take the heat rising off the sun-baked streets over the countryside any day. The silence is oppressive and the nights dark and still, full of shadow and nothingness. He fucking hates it out there.

The city is his home and it comes alive at night.

It sprawls below him, Tokyo; he lives in a converted loft in Karasuno’s territory, just on this side of the neutral zone. The loft is located on the top floor of a former industrial building and one of the main reasons he bought it was for the view. The entire south-facing wall is one big bank of windows that open to the balcony, and sunlight floods in from dawn til dusk. After dark, when the city begins breathing and the street lights flicker on, the loft illuminates with a warm glow. Kei knows he saves a fortune in electricity by allowing the city to light up his home in the evening, by allowing its lifesblood to pulse through his veins.

Still, the heat can be oppressive. He’s got a split air-con, to keep his bedroom and the living area cool during the hottest days of the summer, but it’s currently fucked. For all Kei’s brain is brilliant and Tobio’s hands are deadly and delicate, the two of them together can’t figure out what the hell is wrong with it. The service crew can’t come for another few days and he’s not sure he’ll last that long. It’s unusual, this intolerance to the heat; Kei typically runs cold, burying himself under throws on the couch, padding around in sweats and socked feet. But Tobio’s set him on fire and all he can do now is burn.

His shugosha is nowhere to be found when Kei walks back inside, leaving the doors open to the still night air. That’s not unusual; the dark-haired assassin somehow manages to frequently disappear within the loft, for all that it’s composed of wide-open spaces. If he’s not on the couch or in the kitchen, there’s only three places he can be: on the shitter, practicing in the studio, or holed up in the guest room that ostensibly belongs to him but where he never sleeps. 

At any rate, he’s here somewhere. Kei doesn’t particularly give a flying fuck where because he knows that he’s around. That knowledge is all the comfort he needs. He trusts his shugosha to do his goddamn job. He trusts Tobio to do a lot of things.

Since that asshole’s not currently in front of him to glare judgmentally, to force him to think twice about making poor life choices, Kei doesn’t hesitate to go ahead and make them. He opens the refrigerator and grabs the case of beer nestled on the bottom shelf. Removing a bottle from the container, he turns it over thoughtfully in his hands. The dark glass is cold and heavy against his fingers and it feels like relief. Kei presses the bottle to his neck with a happy sigh and retraces his steps to the balcony. A sudden impulse has him shrugging off his clothes, and he leaves his shorts and his shirt behind, strewn carelessly over the back of the couch. 

It’s better when he gets back outside, clad only in dark gray, slim-fit boxer briefs and carrying the case of beer. He cracks the bottle open and leans back in one of the outdoor loungers. Propping his feet up on the railing, Kei surveys the city below him. It’s too hot to put his headphones on, and he’s not enough of an asshole to play music over his phone without them, so he just listens to the symphony of the city as he drains his first bottle of beer. 

It’s a dull roar, with traffic whizzing by and the occasional police siren wailing through the night. Chattering throngs of people make their way home from the bars, sharing inconsequential stories and jokes about their day. The normalcy that he’s so far removed from is comforting to Kei. It lulls him even as he sweats in his underwear, even as the glass bottle sweats in his hand. The beer is icy and fizzy and only tastes slightly of regret. Kei drinks, and he swelters, and he relaxes. The buzz of the night life sinks into his skin, an entirely pleasant hum, as the alcohol burns through his veins.

He hasn’t been drinking much lately, not since Suga-san was snatched by Fukurodani. Overwhelmed by anger and grief, Sawamura-oyabun couldn’t be trusted to think clearly during the situation, so the burden of leadership had fallen to Kei. He’d spent the week running himself ragged unwinding the web of deceit and lies surrounding the wakagashira’s kidnapping. Kei had needed his full wits about him to piece that puzzle together. It was a small sacrifice to set the liquor aside so he could function at his highest capacity, though the strain of the job made him want to drink more than ever.

Kei knew, objectively, that he did well. He’d worked the situation like a court case, going through the evidence and questioning witnesses. He had learned who had taken Suga-san and why, and he had worked out a plan to get him back. Sawamura-oyabun had been so gratified that he had stated his intention to promote him to saiko-komon. Kei would be the oyabun’s most senior advisor, overseeing the entire administrative staff, and he would officially be the third in command of Karasuno-kai. It’s what he had been working for all this time.

Ten years ago, back when Kei was a punk ass teenager called “Tsukki” who ran streets with his friends Dai and Koushi and Tetsu, he’d made what would become both the best and the worst deal of his life. Old man Sawamura had just died and Dai was going to transition from Sawamura-oji to Sawamura-oyabun. The young leader was smart enough to plan ahead and to invest his resources in human capital. 

Tsukki had sworn to his childhood friend that he would serve him and the family as shingiin for the rest of his days. In return, Karasuno would bankroll his education… and they’d allow his brother Akiteru to leave the yakuza lifestyle with no strings attached. That was _never_ done, but Dai wanted Tsukki’s vow badly enough that he had agreed to it. Blood in, blood out: one Tsukishima’s life for another. Kei had sold his soul to the devil in exchange for his brother’s freedom. He was trapped in this life, but it was mostly worth it because Aki wasn’t.

The deal he had made with Sawamura Daichi was nothing compared to the one Tobio had made with Oikawa Tooru. In exchange for a fuzzy video showing the van that had snatched Suga driving through Seijoh territory and into Fukurodani’s, Tobio had promised to become Oikawa’s _plaything_. The Prince hadn't worded it that way, of course: Oikawa wanted his former kouhai to “train” with him, one night a week, for an indeterminate amount of time. It was a real shit deal.

The Black Dog of Karasuno was an assassin-turned-bodyguard who defended the streets in his family’s name. He was a foot soldier, not a businessman or negotiator; that was Kei’s job as Karasuno’s shiingin. Kei had sworn a blood oath to Sawamura, sacrificing his life to learn how to best represent the family, to wheel and deal on their behalf. Tobio had no idea how to do those things but he’d gone ahead with his half-baked plan out of some misbegotten need to protect Kei from the Seijoh Prince. It was fucking enraging.

Like a good shugosha and a terrible negotiator, Tobio had thrown himself into the line of fire for Kei. He had gone into the meeting with Oikawa intent on calling the shots. He left taking them instead. He came home a broken fucking mess, leaving Kei to put the pieces back together.

 _“He’s a fucking monster,”_ Tobio had whispered from where he was wrapped in Kei’s arms, his heart pounding. _“And I am, too.”_ His voice had been ragged with pain, his normally sharp blue eyes clouded with grief and horror. 

_“No, you’re not,”_ Kei had said, because that was what Tobio needed to hear. It was a goddamn lie and he knew it as soon as the words left his lips, as sincere as anything else he ever said. He was a monster and so was Tobio. They were both monsters, caught up in the monstrous underworld of Tokyo’s yakuza crime families. They’d both killed before and they’d both kill again and Kei had no illusions about lying when he needed to, about twisting and manipulating situations to further his own agenda. 

_“You have to put a stop to this,”_ Kei had demanded of Sawamura, his voice cracking on the words. It was all he could do not to beg and he hated that Tobio had brought him to this. _“You can’t make him go back to Oikawa, not after what he did. He’s in danger. Oikawa will hurt him again.”_

 _“It’s your fault,”_ Sawamura had said impassively. Kei’s friend Dai had changed over the years, becoming colder with his time rebuilding Karasuno-kai. _“You let this happen. He made the deal while you were in charge and you’re asking me to break it for you? Oikawa-san won’t touch him if Kageyama upholds his end of the bargain. If I break the deal, it’s likely that Seijoh will come for you both.”_

 _But he doesn’t have to touch him to hurt him,_ Kei had thought in despair, remembering the emptiness in Tobio’s eyes as he had declared, _“He’s a fucking monster, and I am too.”_

_Let that motherfucker come,_ Kei had thought in rage. _I will choke the life out of him with my own bare hands and fuck Tobio next to his corpse while it cools._

But what he had actually said was, _“Let them come. I am not afraid of Seijoh’s retribution.”_

 _“You should be,”_ Sawamura had answered. _“I’ll do this for you because you got Koushi back for me. But you have to stay put while things die down, you and Kageyama both. I will assign you a guard. There’s going to be a peace talk soon and we’ll smooth things over then. For now, you can’t go out. You’re both too valuable to lose in a shootout on the streets. Use this time to think about what you should have done differently.”_

His failure rankles at him. Sawamura ordered him to think about what he should have done differently, so he has. Kei has turned the problem over and over in his brain and the only conclusion he can come to is this: He should have restrained Tobio, kept him under lock and key until the deal was done. Because if he’s learned one thing over the months that Tobio has been assigned to protect him, that Tobio has been _burdened_ by him, it’s this: there’s no way to control that goddamn asshole. It’s fucking enraging.

Kei has no problem controlling anyone in the courtroom. In his perfectly-tailored three piece suits, fashion glasses perched high on his nose, he towers over the opposing counsel and their clients. He speaks confidently as he tears apart witness testimony and he commands the floor every time he opens his mouth. Karasuno’s silver-tongued shiingin rarely loses a case.

Kei has no problem controlling anyone else in the family. He knows exactly how to direct the kyodai to the family’s advantage and all of the shatei are terrified of him. He devises complicated business deals and oversees their implementation with razor-sharp accuracy. He is the childhood friend of both the oyabun and wakagashira and his influence knows no bounds.

Kei cannot control Tobio and it’s fucking enraging. His shugosha patently ignores him half of the time, as if he knows better. If he’s not ignoring him, he gives judgemental looks that say: _This is so fucking stupid - are you serious? What the fuck is wrong with you? Asshole._

It’s also incredibly fucking attractive because Kei _never_ gets to argue with anyone he views as his equal. Tobio’s a challenge, a bossy King who calls him out on his bullshit. Kei doesn’t know if he _wants_ to control His Highness, and that’s a fucking problem too.

The beer makes it easier to think objectively about all of the issues he’s been frantically turning over in his brain. As his veins buzz pleasantly, it feels like he’s detaching from his physical form, ascending to a higher plane of existence. It’s why he loves drinking, this feeling he eventually gets: this ability to soar without fear of falling, to analyze his problems with an uncaring, reckless abandon. 

Tsukishima Kei has spent his entire life putting up walls, burning down bridges and isolating himself from everyone. It’s the only way he knows how to protect himself. The days of his childhood were spent scrounging on the streets with his friends, learning how to cheat and steal to survive. The nights of his youth were spent as his father’s punching bag, his stomach growling with hunger while his mother shot up with drugs. He’s great at fucking defending himself, at keeping himself caged up, at letting no one in.

And yet somehow Kageyama Tobio managed to waltz in, right the fuck through his metaphorical front door, calling out a silent _tadaima!_ with his soul that has Kei’s frozen fucking heart screaming out _okaeri!_ in return.

He may be a consummate liar but the one person he can never fool is himself. Kei’s turned this problem over and over in his brain hundreds and thousands of times and he comes up with the same answer each time. It’s a real shit answer but he knows it’s his truth: like a dumbass, he’s falling head-over-heels in love with his guard dog. 

It’s such a goddamn stupid thing to do and Kei knows it. He’s so fucked up. Tobio’s so fucked up. Their lives, their entire existence as yakuza operating in Tokyo’s underworld, are so fucked up. You’re supposed to fall in love and live happily ever after. That doesn’t happen on the streets. You cheat, you lie, you steal. You kill and you are eventually killed. Yakuza don’t get happily ever afters. Love is not part of the equation.

Kei owes a blood debt to Karasuno; he’ll never be free of this life. Tobio knows nothing but murder; he’ll never be free of this life. They’re trapped in this shit show together and Kei’s treacherous fucking heart has apparently decided to go rogue and make the best of it.

Kei opens another beer, tips it back, and drains the whole bottle in one go. It’s a soothing action, so he repeats it: one after another, he consumes the rest of the case. His brain detaches itself from his body, his spirit flying higher as his troubles fall away to the streets below. 

The problem is this: Kei can’t control Tobio. Kei can’t control his heart. Kei can’t control his future. So he gives up control, and he drinks.

🌛👑🌜

Time is nebulous on hot summer nights like these. Seconds and minutes and hours pass, maybe, before Kei finally stops thinking and starts scrolling aimlessly through his phone. He’s sticky with sweat and he tastes of cheap beer and poor choices. He thinks of Tobio, of sleek muscled limbs twisted in his sheets, of dark silken hair pooled on his pillows, and he decides to continue making those same poor choices just for the hell of it. He taps on his phone, and he scrolls, and he waits.

He feels Tobio when he looms up behind him. The hitokiri never makes a sound; he wouldn’t be an effective assassin if his targets heard him coming. But Kei’s so high strung and so attuned to his presence after spending months together that he knows when Tobio’s there, even if he is three sheets to the fucking wind.

“Hello, _King_ ,” he says as dryly as possible. Kei’s skin is humming and he wishes he had more beer. He wonders if he can send one of their guards to the closest convenience store to pick up another case or two. That idea pleases him because it would probably really piss Tobio off.

“What. Are you doing. Out here.” Tobio says in a flat tone, ignoring the nickname. 

The question is broken up into choppy bits and lacks inflection. It’s the way Tobio talks and Kei’s witnessed others in the family dismiss his intelligence just because he has difficulty forming words. It’s a huge fucking mistake; it’s a mistake he’ll never make. Tobio’s mind is as dark and dangerous as his own. He’s deeply analytical and thoughtful; he just has problems speaking. _You’d have to be dumb as shit to underestimate him_ , Kei thinks. _Too bad so many people are._

Tobio’s wearing his customary form-fitting black shirt and tactical pants despite the sweltering heat. His bangs stick to his forehead with sweat and there’s a flush high on his cheeks. His discomfort is obvious to Kei, who fucking _lives_ to see Tobio react to the world around him. Grinning lazily, Kei considers the question briefly before giving his answer.

“Cooling off,” he says. “But I’m still _so hot_.” He deliberately emphasizes the words, giving Tobio a little wink as he does so.

“Why are you… naked?” Tobio asks, his brow furrowed as his eyes sweep over his body. 

Kei feels the weight of his gaze, noting how fierce blue eyes linger on his bare legs. The reaction pleases him and he continues to grin as he watches Tobio’s face. Shifting in the lounger, Kei uncrosses his long legs, unashamedly giving a bit of a show. He rises to his feet and takes a few steps to the balcony railing, leaning out and looking over the city below. He feels Tobio’s gaze, hot and heavy on the backs of his thighs, and he stretches for his benefit.

“It’s hot,” he says again. “I’m not _naked._ I have on underwear.”

“You sent a dick picture,” Tobio says plainly. “In your text message. You do not have on underwear.”

Kei does not remember taking a picture of his dick, let alone sending it to Tobio, but even his alcohol-soaked brain understands that his bodyguard would never lie to him. He’s not a lying rat bastard like Kei, who has learned to take the words that emerge from Tobio’s lips as something both precious and sacred because it’s such a struggle to form them. It takes a moment for the second part of Tobio’s statement to sink in, and Kei immediately looks down. He is, indeed, completely naked. 

He wonders, briefly, where his underwear went, before he casts that thought aside. They must have fallen off sometime between beers ten and eleven, or something like that. It’s irrelevant. What’s important is that Kei is butt ass naked on his balcony and he’s sent his bodyguard an inappropriate picture. He can’t bring himself to give two shits and a fuck. Actually, a fuck sounds pretty great. Slanting a sly gaze to the general area of Tobio's crotch, Kei wonders if he's up for it. He thinks he might be, the way Tobio keeps looking at his legs.

“You’re being stupid,” Tobio says. “Go inside.”

“It’s too hot,” Kei protests immediately, and even he can tell how petulant he sounds. “You may be impervious to the heat, _King_ , but your subjects are mere mortals. I don’t want to go back inside just yet.”

“It’s dangerous,” Tobio says. “You are a good target out here. Anyone can shoot you. And don’t. Call me that.” His voice is dispassionate and calculating. 

Something clenches in Kei’s heart when he hears it. _Would you even care if someone shot me? It would save you the trouble. You can go back to being hitokiri and forget all about what a burden I am. We wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for my mistakes._

“No,” he says in irritation, scowling. “No one is going to shoot me, _King_.” He drawls the nickname again, thinking, _I wish someone would. I’m not worth the trouble._

There’s a soft click, and a .380 is pointed directly at his fucking face

“Go back inside,” Tobio orders in that same flat voice. “We shouldn’t be out here."

His hand is steady and his eyes flicker with something like anger as they stare down the barrel at Kei. It’s hot as hell, being pinned under his gaze like this, his soul bared for Tobio to see. Kei feels a dangerous grin spreading across his lips.

“Or what?” he asks. His words are challenging as they slip off his tongue, vaguely threatening and more than slightly mocking. “Or what, _King_? Are you going to shoot me?”

“Call me that one more fucking time,” Tobio says, “and I’m going to make you wish I would.”

Despite his flat tone, Tobio’s words are definitely threatening. The vise grip on his heart loosens a little, and something deep within his gut unfurls. _It’s so hot_ , Kei thinks, about the night and his shugosha and the gun in his hand. He’s so desperate, so reckless, and he can feel the heat rising up in his body when he reaches out with slender fingers to lazily bat the gun aside. 

“Then do it, _your highness_ ,” Kei says. 

So Tobio does.

The gun moves out of line at Kei’s touch, but Tobio swings his other hand up and brings it straight across his face. It’s a solid blow, strong fingers held stiff and firm as they slam into his cheek, as they drive through it. Kei feels his head snap to the side and his lips catch on his teeth, tears immediately springing to his eyes. The pain comes a moment later, high and sharp, and he gasps raggedly from his bent-over position. 

His mind is beautifully, wonderfully blank. He’s no longer buzzing with detachment, flying above his own body; instead, he’s back solidly within himself, and the world is made of crystalline-sharp edges that threaten to cut but never do. The ever-present noise from the streets is silent. His face is on fire from the force of the blow and Kei draws in a deep breath before straightening back up, steeling his gaze as he looks at Tobio.

“Again,” he orders, blinking through his tears as they trickle down his face. They feel cold in comparison to the flaming skin underneath them. _As cold as my frozen fucking heart_. 

From his position barely a foot away, Tobio examines him clinically, his eyes narrowed slivers of ice. He reaches out and touches Kei’s chin, tilting his head so he can more easily see where the blow landed. There’s something lurking behind his eyes, something that Kei can’t name but desperately wants to. 

He stares into the blue depths, trying to work it out, but his newfound clarity fails him in this moment. Instead, Kei raises a quivering hand to touch his fingers to his own lips, pulling them away covered in blood. He can taste the copper in his mouth, bold and metallic, stronger than the sourness of the beer. “Do it _again_ , Tobio--”

“You _like_ it,” Tobio says, but this time there’s a different note in his voice. The tone no longer sounds flat and Kei wonders what exactly that change signifies. “You _like_ it when I hit you.”

Before Kei can answer, Tobio pulls his hand back, straightens his fingers, and swings again. It lands the same way, with pinpoint accuracy and precision, and the force of it sends him staggering to the side. Blood from his lip spatters onto the concrete beneath his feet. Kei clutches at the balcony railing, willing himself to breathe again. The wrought iron beneath his shaking hands is the only thing keeping him upright. 

“You’re smart,” Tobio says as Kei's ears ring. “But you do stupid shit. You make bad choices. You’re dangerous.”

 _My whole life is a series of bad choices_ , Kei thinks as he clings to the railing. _One after another, culminating in this very moment. You have no fucking clue how many bad choices I’ve made in my life_. He opens his mouth and he makes another.

“I’m perfectly safe out here,” Kei says, speaking out into the city, pointedly not looking at Tobio. “We’re up so high and it’s dark. No one can see me. No one’s going to kill me on my own balcony.” _No one cares enough to. I’m not important to anybody_.

“I could kill you easily,” Tobio says, moving to stand behind him. A hand comes down on either side of Kei’s slender figure, resting lightly against the railing. The .380 is still clutched in Tobio’s right hand and the metal clinks where it makes contact with the wrought iron. Kei fights the urge to push back into Tobio’s chest, forcing himself to stay put. “There could be snipers on the roofs. And here you are, naked. _Vulnerable_.” 

There’s an inflection on that word that Kei has never heard him use before. Against his will, he arches his back and grinds into Tobio. He is unsurprised to feel the hardness there. Kei knows Tobio has a thing for guns: he’d tested the theory early on when he’d pointed that same .380 at him. _“I’m ordering you,”_ Kei had said. _“Put your hands on me.”_ Tobio had put his hands on him, and his mouth, demonstrating fully how much he enjoyed Kei pointing his own gun at him. He hadn’t realized he would be similarly affected if Tobio had the gun instead.

 _Fuck me,_ Kei thinks, but he doesn’t say it. _I may love you,_ he thinks, but he doesn’t say that, either. He bites his split lip instead and tastes the blood as it flows between his teeth.

The hand holding the gun comes up, wrapping around him. It’s so fucking cold in the heat of the night, the drag of blackened steel against his bare flesh. It starts at his left thigh, nudges at his groin with one breathtaking push and continues up his stomach, up his chest. Even though he’s sweating, goosebumps spring up all over his body and Kei hears himself let out a soft sound. The gun settles in the hollow of his throat, the barrel pointing at the underside of his chin. It’s simultaneously the most terrifying and the most erotic thing he has ever experienced. He trembles underneath Tobio’s touch.

“You piss me off,” Tobio continues, “acting like your life is worthless.”

“It is,” Kei dares to breathe as the muzzle of the gun caresses his jaw. 

“Not to me,” Tobio says, and Kei unconsciously makes a whining sound. The words are a revelation and he wants to dwell on them more, but the gun jabs into him, jerking his head back and commanding all of his attention. 

“Shut up,” Tobio says. “No noise. Not out here.” His other hand lets go of the balcony railing and grasps Kei instead, wrapping tightly around his cock. A soft thumb rubs lightly over the slit, already wet with his longing and excitement. Somehow Tobio’s hand is even hotter than the night air, and even though his words are harsh, his fingers are gentle. He uses just the right amount of pressure and Kei wants _more_.

He lets out a very soft, low moan at his touch, grinding back reflexively against Tobio’s hardness. Suddenly, the muzzle of the gun is at his lips. It’s hard and unyielding and it feels good against his swollen, bruised flesh. Kei opens his mouth and allows the gun to slide in. The weapon is acrid and bitter on his tongue, tasting of oil and metal and a strange, sharp flavor that he assumes must be gunpowder. It tastes like Tobio. It tastes like sex, and he hollows his cheeks and sucks it in.

“You like that, too,” Tobio observes, his lips inches from Kei’s ear. He jumps a little, surprised by the closeness. The metal of the gun clinks against his teeth and Tobio’s tongue flicks out to lick a stripe down the side of his neck. Kei shivers in his arms, his own slender limbs quivering where they hold onto the railing, his fingers white-knuckled. Tobio continues to stroke him, firmly but gently. His warm and soft hands are a stark contrast to the cold and hard metal in Kei’s mouth.

He can feel himself drooling a little around the gun and he can taste where his lip is still bleeding. Tobio suddenly withdraws his hand from his cock and Kei whines, a high-pitched sound that comes straight from the back of his throat, vibrating around the barrel of the gun. Tobio unhooks one of Kei’s hands from the balcony rail, pulls it behind him, and places it gently against his own head. He feels silky-smooth hair under his palm and he laces his fingers through it, remembering what to do despite his drunken haze.

“Make another sound,” Tobio warns, and the threat is heavy in his voice, “and I will stop.” 

Somewhere in the back of his alcohol-soaked brain, Kei realizes, _He’s talking more. He likes talking to me like this. He has a filthy fucking mouth._ It’s a power rush, knowing he can make Tobio talk, and he decides he wants to hear more. He wants to hear anything and everything his shugosha has to say.

Tobio’s feet are positioned between his at the railing. He nudges them against Kei’s, first one and then the other, forcing him to spread his legs further apart. Everything is moving so slowly, and there’s a dreamlike quality to the world. Kei doesn’t know whether to attribute it to the alcohol, to the slaps, or to Tobio’s gentle touch and filthy words.

“I think,” Tobio says, and the words are practically spewing out of him, “you _want_ me to fuck you here. Where anyone can see. _Out here_. In the open.” 

Kei desperately wants Tobio to fuck him right now and he doesn’t really care where. They are both currently on the balcony, so that seems like as good of a place as any. He can’t speak so he nods, dragging the gun up and down with his movements. As he does, he feels a finger probe at him tentatively. It’s slick from where Tobio was stroking him, wet with his own moisture. Kei stifles a moan and pushes back, encouraging Tobio as best as he can. Falsehoods may spew from his lips like honeyed poison, but his body never lies. He’s frantic for Tobio’s touch.

The alcohol makes it easier; he’s responsive rather than combative, shuddering as Tobio gives a few hesitant thrusts with a single finger like he’s never done this before. They’ve been stuck in the loft together with nothing better to do than fight and fuck for weeks now, but Tobio’s still as gentle with him as he was the first time they tried this. His touch is at odds with his reputation as a deadly hitokiri. 

_Give me another_ , Kei wants to demand, but the gun prevents him from speaking. He twists and writhes on the one he has, breathing harshly around the gun in his mouth. He doesn’t have to say it, because Tobio _knows_ and he _does_. Kei grunts and bucks back against him at the sensation.

There’s a soft huff at his ear, like Tobio’s laughing, except he so rarely laughs. Kei tries to turn to look at him, to see if he really is laughing, but the gun holds his head in place. He’s drooling all over it now, his spit mixed with the blood from his lip, and he tries in vain to swallow. 

_Go harder_ , he wants to demand, but he doesn’t have to because Tobio _knows_ and he _does_. They’ve learned how to communicate in moments like this: wordlessly, through fiery glances and electric touches and desperate need. And oh, right now, Kei _needs._

He’s breathless, pinned between Tobio’s relentless fingers and the wrought iron balcony rail, the gun in his mouth ensuring his silence. The world is spinning and he can no longer tell if he’s hot or cold as he rocks his hips in time with Tobio’s hand. Sweat pours off his limbs and goosebumps prickle his flesh. It feels so goddamn good. Tobio feels so goddamn good. He’s going to come like this. He’s going to come. He’s going to--

Without warning, Tobio jerks his fingers out of his ass. It’s jarring and awful and Kei immediately sags, leaning heavily against the railing and doing his very best not to keen in protest. He’s so hard and so desperate for his release that he lets go of the rail and reaches for his own cock, wrapping a hand around it to jerk himself off. It won’t take much.

“No,” Tobio says simply, and Kei doesn’t want to listen. 

It’s the hardest thing to do in the world, to stop himself once he starts making bad choices. He’s headstrong and reckless and he wants to continue hurtling forward at all costs. Kei has no self control and all he ever does is think and drink and make poor choices and his life is a shit show and he always feels like a bystander watching himself, unable to stop, _screaming_ at himself to stop.

“Stop,” Tobio orders.

So Kei does.

His hand falls from Tobio’s hair and he digs his fingers into his palm instead, nails forming little half-moon indentations in his flesh. The gun is pulled from his mouth and Kei takes a harsh, ragged breath. He hears a soft sound as Tobio sets the gun down on the little table next to the lounger, as he places it next to the empty beer bottles. He breathes deeply, trying to calm down, trying to make his racing heart slow. It’s a futile attempt.

Tobio leaves the gun behind and returns to position Kei how he wants him. One hand grabs his hip and the other, the nape of his neck. He’s forcibly dragged several feet away from the railing before being roughly pushed forward, bent in half at the waist. The hand on his neck slides down to his other hip, burning and electric. And then Kei shakes and grabs onto the railing for dear life as Tobio kneels between his long legs, spread wide and waiting for him, sitting seiza like the proper shugosha he is.

“No noise,” Tobio warns him, before he licks a broad, flat stripe where his fingers were just moments ago.

Kei’s knees buckle. He can’t fall because his hands have a death grip on the railing and because Tobio has a death grip on his hips. As if he’s a great distance away from this whole situation, he feels strong fingers slip down and dig into the meat of his thighs. A tongue burns a trail, hot and wet, around his entrance. Kei fights to escape it even though that’s the last thing he wants to do, just because it’s so _slick_ and _good_ that he can’t stand it. The hands on his thighs hold him in place. _Itadakimasu_ , Kei thinks absurdly as Tobio devours him whole. 

The tip of Tobio’s tongue slips within him and Kei jolts, biting down on his already-bloody lip even harder to keep from crying out. He silences himself by stuffing the back of his hand into his mouth. Tobio’s so patient as he licks him open, his tongue hot and slick and relentless. He takes his time, working a finger or two back in, moving them around and sliding them back out. He curls them just so, in the way that always makes Kei beg when he hasn’t been told _no noise_ , and he’s almost crying with his need to moan. 

Tobio withdraws his fingers and _sucks_ , and Kei screams into his hand, which blessedly muffles the noise. It’s a good thing, because he would kill Tobio if he stopped what he’s doing at this very moment. He’s going to come like this, with Tobio’s face buried in his ass. It feels so goddamn good. Tobio feels so goddamn good. He’s going to come like this. He’s going to come. He’s going to--

The tongue retreats and Kei sobs silently around his fist, his body convulsing with his unspoken need. It hurts, _he hurts, he needs_. His dick is throbbing and he tastes blood and his whole body is on fire. Tobio’s teeth find the soft part of his ass and bite down hard, and that hurts too. Kei’s hips buck forward at the sharp pain but Tobio's hand drags him back. 

He proceeds to leave a dozen little bites like that all over each cheek and on the backs of his thighs. Kei squirms as he places each one carefully, with precision, as if he’s drawing a map. The pain is good. Like the slaps, it makes the world snap back into focus with a sharp clarity. He fixates on the feel of Tobio’s teeth against his skin, which is why he fails to notice the hitokiri reaching behind him until it’s too late. 

“Don’t move,” Tobio says in his coldest voice, the one he saves for the targets he kills. Kei freezes at his tone more so than his words, his heart pounding. He’s not afraid of Tobio, because he never is. Rather, he’s afraid of his reaction to what Tobio is going to do. Kei’s out of control and he knows it; he’s preparing to crash and burn.

Something else is probing at him now, and it’s an entirely new sensation. It’s cold and hard and blunt against him. Kei looks back over his shoulder and his eyes widen with equal parts horror and desire when he realizes what exactly Tobio is doing. His body goes completely rigid as Tobio’s thumb digs into his hip, as the muzzle of the .380 pushes against him, wet with spit and blood. There is a smug expression on Tobio’s face as his sharp eyes focus on Kei’s.

“Do you like this?” he asks. “The danger?" 

Kei meets his gaze and sees a thousand other little things expressed there. He may be the one spread naked and bare on the balcony in front of the entirety of Tokyo, but Tobio’s face is just as revealing. _This is what you want, isn’t it? You were begging for it, so I will give it to you. You came out here, so I followed you. You drank too much, so I will protect you. You sent a picture to taunt me, so I will torment you. You think your life is worthless, so I am going to claim it. How dare you act this way when it will hurt me. How dare you throw your life away when it belongs to me. Asshole. This is what you deserve. This is what you want, so I am giving it to you. I will give you everything_. 

Tobio says none of those things, of course, but Kei understands them anyway. 

“If my finger slips, you die,” is what he says instead. “And my gun is very wet. It would be easy to slip. You made it so messy. I am going to have to oil it again.” His voice is detached and clinical, as if he’s making an observation about the weather. Kei wants to choke him.

The world is spinning around him again and Kei can’t make it stop. Tobio is fucking him with his favorite gun and Kei doesn’t _want_ him to stop. The gun is cold and hard but also hot and unyielding and when Tobio aims it just right, it hits something deep within him that makes him want to scream. 

Tobio maintains eye contact with him as he pushes it in and pulls it back with slow, solid thrusts. It’s a blatant show of dominance and the part of his brain that isn’t drunk with pleasure wonders if the firearm is actually loaded. Kei decides, in that same detached drunken manner that allows him to examine his problems with reckless abandon, that he really fucking doesn’t care.

“Stop looking at me,” Tobio says finally. “You wanted me to fuck you outside. In front of the whole city. So look at it. Anyone could be watching this. Watching me fuck you with this gun. Show _them_ how much you like it.”

Kei turns his head and looks out at the city, as instructed. It’s a thing of beauty, spread before him. The lights glow warm and golden and he loves it with all that he is. As he looks at the city, Kei imagines snipers on the roofs watching them through their scopes. He pictures spotters on the ground looking up at them through binoculars. He thinks about Tobio fucking him for the whole city to see, showing it that maybe he’s not worthless, that there’s at least one person who sees his value.

Being fucked on the balcony overlooking Tokyo is goddamn dangerous and exciting, just like Tobio. Kei can’t tell if the dull thudding in his ears is the sound of the city or his own pulse or the rhythm of the gun thrusting in and out. He can’t tell if the high-pitched sound is another siren or his own whine begging for release. It must be the former because Tobio keeps fucking him relentlessly despite threatening to stop if Kei made noise. Kei may lie but Tobio never does.

“You’re going to come,” Tobio observes casually. Kei shakes his head, determined to prove that goddamn asshole wrong. He will not come, not like this, not on the end of Tobio’s gun--

The gun pulls out halfway and stops. A finger lightly brushes against him in the cleft between his cheeks and there is a soft click. Kei realizes that Tobio has stretched his finger out to flick the safety off. He thrusts the .380 back in, harder than before, and Kei squawks into his fist.

“Come right now,” Tobio says, “or I shoot.”

Kei comes with a silent, strangled gasp, his eyes clenched shut. His back arches so violently that he feels it pop as he slams himself back onto the .380, trying to take the whole goddamn thing in. His toes curl and he bites down on his fist to keep from crying out. He tastes blood again. His vision goes fuzzy around the edges and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to detach his fingers from the balcony rail. He’ll certainly never be able to look at a handgun the same way again. 

Tobio removes the .380 and tosses it casually onto the lounger. He replaces it immediately with his cock, all hot velvet steel instead of cold harsh metal. Kei’s nerves are on fire and he sobs helplessly around his fist, first at the sudden emptiness and then at the sudden warmth as he’s filled again. It’s so different than the gun, _so much better_ , so much _more real_ that he feels tears leaking from his eyes in sheer relief.

The rough fabric of Tobio’s pants brushes against his ass, chafing. The hands on his hips dig in, bruising. He’s jerked up and spun, shoved face-first against the glass windows looking into his loft, Tobio’s cock buried in him the whole time. Kei scrabbles at the glass, trying to brace himself on his elbows, pulling his hand out of his mouth in his efforts to support himself. It’s bloody now too and he can’t tell if it’s from his lips or from where he bit down uncontrollably to keep from screaming. He smears pink across the window as his soaking-wet fingers slip across the glass.

“That one was for you,” Tobio says breathlessly, his voice low, “because you needed to be seen. This one is for _me_. No one else gets to see. _Only me_.”

 _They’re all for you_ , Kei tries to say, but the only thing that comes out is a loud moan.

The glass feels like ice on his skin in the hot night air and everything is so sensitive and so intense that it’s fucking painful. Kei practically screams as the full length of his body makes contact with the frozen window. Tobio’s hand claps over his mouth, sealing it shut, muffling the sounds he can’t stop making. 

“No one else gets to hear you, either,” he says.

His voice sounds different now, warmer, possessive. _I’m falling in love with you_ , Kei thinks again, _because I have no control_. He decides, desperately, that he has to try to take back control. Flailing a hand out behind him blindly, Kei searches for Tobio’s head. He hits his face with an inconsequential, glancing blow, before his hand slides into sweat-soaked silk. Kei tightens his fingers and _yanks_.

🌛👑🌜

Tobio freezes immediately. He stops without hesitation even though he’s balls deep in Kei’s ass, and it takes every last bit of scattered willpower Kei has to not beg him to keep going. Tobio breathes against his shoulder, ragged and harsh, and removes his hand from Kei’s mouth. Kei takes a moment to organize his thoughts while Tobio leans against him, immobile and silent. Sorting through them is difficult because he’s still half-drunk on beer; it’s difficult because he’s half-drunk on love, and that’s a problem that he never thought he’d have to deal with.

“Move back,” he finally says. “Let me go.”

Tobio obeys wordlessly, letting his cock slip out and taking a step back, dropping his hands to his sides. Kei exhales at the sensation before turning to face him, leaning heavily against the glass. The cold is soothing on his bare ass, as marked as it is with dozens of little love bites and bruises. He looks at Tobio, who is fumbling to fasten his pants, and he’s shocked to see something akin to fear on his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Did I--” Tobio hesitates, uncertainty crossing his features. “Did I. Hurt you?” 

He’s speaking in choppy sentences again, and Kei immediately notes and catalogs the difference. He liked it when Tobio was talking dirty to him, not because of the words, but because it somehow seemed easier for him to articulate them. Kei resolves to make Tobio use his words again as soon as possible.

“No,” he answers. “I want to go inside. You said you want to _see_. You can’t see if I’m pressed against the glass.”

“Oh,” Tobio says, blinking as he regards Kei through his bangs. In the space of a heartbeat, he surges forward to capture Kei’s bloody lips in a searing kiss. _You were just eating my ass,_ Kei considers pointing out, then thinks _fuck it_ and goes all in. He swipes his tongue across Tobio’s lips, sliding it between them when they part. Pressed against him, Tobio makes a soft sound that the noise of the city, now loud and clamoring again, tries to swallow up. _This won’t do,_ Kei thinks. He wants to hear everything Tobio has to say, especially the things he doesn’t _mean_ to say.

They tumble through the balcony doors, lips sealed together, Kei working at the waist of Tobio’s pants. He gives up because the belt is too difficult for his fingers to manage. They’re so stiff from clutching the balcony railing and so sore from being bitten in his endeavor to stay quiet that he doubts he’ll be able to grip a sword in the morning. That’s a problem for later. 

Tobio shoves Kei’s hands out of his way with an impatient huff and does it himself. Kei gets to work at pulling his shirt off, instead, coaxing it up over his head. They’re finally at the couch and Kei _pushes_ , knocking Tobio back onto the cushions, knocking him off of his feet. Without wasting another moment, he climbs on top of Tobio’s lap and straddles him.

“Is this what you wanted? This view?” Kei chokes out in a low voice as he sits down on Tobio’s cock, taking him in as slowly as possible. He sinks deeper, inch by incredible inch as he carefully watches the expression on Tobio’s face. His eyes look drunk with pleasure and Tobio closes them lazily, relaxing into the cushions beneath them. There’s a flush high and bright over his cheekbones, spreading across his nose to the tips of his ears. He looks soft like this, and pliant, and so utterly blissed out that it’s no effort at all for Kei to lean forward to press a kiss to his lips.

Tobio’s mouth parts under his as he whispers, “Yes.”

Kei feels the heat rising in his body again as he rides Tobio, rolling his hips slowly, languorously. He places one hand on Tobio’s shoulder and adjusts his position so he can sit down even farther, take him even deeper. Tobio lets out a low moan at the sensation that Kei finds himself echoing. His hands clutch at Kei’s thighs, gently this time, a stark contrast to their frenzied passion on the balcony. This is so nice, controlling the pace, controlling Tobio’s reactions, controlling the mood, controlling their pleasure. 

“Tobio,” Kei says breathlessly, belatedly remembering the reason they came inside. Bleary blue eyes open, blink, and look at him. “You said you wanted to see. _Watch me, then_.”

Tobio rests his head against the back of the couch as he obediently keeps his eyes focused on Kei, his mouth hanging open a little as he begins to breathe faster. With the tip of his forefinger, Kei traces the Karasuno crow irezumi on the broad chest underneath him. _Over his heart, because we’ll never betray him,_ he thinks, idly tugging at Tobio’s nipple before continuing to stroke the inked feathers. Goosebumps spring up underneath his touch.

“I always watch you,” Tobio says, and his voice is raw. 

“Why?” Kei asks, swiveling his hips a bit as he bears down harder.

Tobio answers him easily, the words quick to spill over his lips and onto Kei’s. “Because it’s _you_ , you arrogant asshole. Because _you’re mine_. Because _no one_ is going to take you from me. So stop fucking trying to make it easy for them.”

Kei’s throat is suddenly dry and he swallows hard, fighting the rise of emotion trying to spew out of him. _He’s a monster_ , he reminds himself, _and so am I. I can’t love him and he can’t love me. We’re so fucked up. Neither one of us knows what love really is. I love fucking him, that’s all. Yakuza don’t get to live happily ever after. If we go down this path, all we have to look forward to is dying in a hail of bullets together_. 

He doesn’t lie to himself and now’s a real shit time to start. Kei thinks of Tobio’s hands changing his bandages, soft and gentle. He thinks of the meals Tobio’s cooked for him, of his little pout when he doesn’t clean his plate. He thinks of Tobio’s lips trying their hardest not to smile at whatever stupid movie they’re watching on the couch together. He thinks of Tobio’s fingers tapping on his phone as they sit side-by-side, texting rather than speaking. Kei doesn’t lie to himself because he’s too damn smart for his own good and he knows better. He’s built a solid case against himself, collecting memories as evidence, and he can’t just dismiss it.

Kei is Karasuno-kai’s silver-tongued shingiin and his job is to argue and lie. Since he can’t lie to himself, he has to do his best to present the facts to Tobio, to convince him that this is a really fucking poor choice. He’s rendered largely incoherent by the alcohol and the pleasure, but he still tries.

“It’s a cage,” he says, attempting to articulate his thoughts even as he continues to rise up and down, fucking Tobio slowly. It’s remarkably hard to do so. It’s hard to think and to continue to go at such a glacial pace. He’s so close again, and sweat drips off him in the sweltering room, falling onto Tobio beneath him. He wants to fuck him hard, to _pound_ him into oblivion, to make him scream his name loud enough for the whole city to hear.

Instead, he says thickly, “This place. This thing we have. Karasuno. It’s a cage and we’re trapped and we’re making poor choices. You got hurt and it’s my fault.”

“I’m your shugosha,” Tobio says, his voice strangled with need. “It’s my job.” His hands travel from Kei’s thighs, stroking over his hips and up his sides, causing him to squirm from side to side. They settle on his rib cage, fingers splayed wide, solid and warm against his chest.

“I can’t control it,” Kei tries to explain in desperation. His cock rubs against Tobio’s abs with each thrust, and it’s so oversensitive that he thinks he might scream. Beneath him, Tobio is trembling, bucking his hips up, trying to force him to go faster. Kei does his best to ignore him, to maintain his same slow and steady pace.

“I can,” says Tobio, the tips of his fingers digging into Kei’s rib cage so hard that he knows he’ll have ten little marks there by morning. “And I will.”

“I’m a poor choice,” Kei protests one last time, fixing his eyes on Tobio’s. They stare back at him with something in them that he’s finally able to recognize: _need_. “You don’t make those.”

“You make enough for both of us,” Tobio says. “I get at least one.”

Something inside of him snaps as Tobio renders his verdict. Kei drives himself down, desperately clutching at the back of his neck. Tobio pushes himself forward on the couch, wrapping his arms around Kei, pulling them as closely together as possible. Their lips meet again, wet and sloppy; they kiss frantically, breathing in and exhaling each other out. _I need you,_ Kei thinks, and it’s the only thought in his head. _I need you, I need you, I need you, I need--_

Tobio comes first, his cries muffled by Kei’s tongue. He feels Tobio’s dick twitch and pulse within him as he’s flooded with warmth, but he refuses to stop, overstimulation be damned. Kei continues to mercilessly ride Tobio, hard and fast, selfishly demanding his own release. 

There’s a certain feeling that comes from this kind of fucking, from knowing that he’s in control of the situation, from hearing and seeing Tobio unravel beneath him. It’s that feeling that finally does Kei in. He throws his head back, his eyes scrunched closed as he comes for the second time with a soft grunt. He’s all screamed out.

He collapses onto Tobio’s chest, and his shugosha holds him loosely within his arms. _This is my favorite time_ , he thinks, _when he’s all gentle and soft like this_. It’s as close to a lie as Kei ever gets to telling himself, because every minute he spends with Tobio is his favorite time. It’s a problem, but he’s starting to think that maybe he doesn’t have to figure out all of this bullshit immediately. Maybe they’re not just _his_ problems; maybe they’re _Tobio’s_ problems too, and they can deal with them together.

 _I love you_ , he wants to say as Tobio shifts back on the couch, sliding out of him. They’re making a mess on the furniture but Kei can’t bring himself to give a flying fuck. He rises off of his knees and turns sideways on Tobio’s lap, stretching his legs out on the couch with a sigh of relief. They’re tight and sore, his muscles all wrung out with exertion. Tobio immediately brings a hand to his thigh, squeezing it firmly. The other hand tangles in his hair.

“I need you,” he says instead, watching Tobio’s face as he tugs his fingers through sweat-darkened blond curls, intrigued by the expression he sees there. It’s open and raw, and he looks at Kei frankly when he answers him.

“I need you too,” Tobio says. It sounds just as much like a confession as Kei’s own words.

They sit silently like that for a little while, Tobio stroking his hair while Kei does his best to cool down and sober up. Time passes, but it’s meaningless in the darkened loft that is currently serving as their cage.

“The gun,” Kei says eventually, because his mind won’t let him stop thinking about it. “Was it loaded?”

Tobio huffs and something like the ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “What if someone came at you on the balcony?” he asks. “You were exposed. I have to protect you.”

“You’re a terrible shugosha,” says Kei, perfectly deadpan. “The fucking worst.”

“I would have just thrown them over the railing,” Tobio says. “Thought about throwing you too, but cockroaches fly.”

“Did you-- did you just call me a _cockroach?_ ” Kei sputters, and to his horror he feels his lips trying their hardest to pull into a smile. “Are you _joking_ with me? You’re making a fucking joke. Tobio, _what the fuck_?”

“Don’t be an asshole about it,” Tobio responds, giving a particularly sharp tug at his hair.

“I’m always an asshole,” Kei says, regarding him with something disgustingly close to fondness. “And so are you.” 

“I’m going to kill you one day,” Tobio threatens, but the laughter is so evident in his voice that Kei finds himself snickering silently along with him.

“You already fucking are,” he says, and it’s the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutouts to three special people from the Twitterverse:
> 
> This fic is a gift for the wonderful [Niko](https://twitter.com/MONANIK2), who has been beta reading for me! You are the best and I always appreciate your comments. Go give Niko some love; they write fic AND they're a brilliant artist!
> 
> Shiina, thank you so much for creating the art I used to promote the release of this fic!
> 
> Finally, you all have my bff May to thank for Kei's brilliant "Itadakimasu!" quip. When she said that, I cackled so hard the cat sitting on my lap fled in terror.
> 
> This was my first time writing Kei's point of view, which is so very different than Tobio's broken soldier boy thoughts. I hope you enjoyed, and I plan on writing more fics from Kei's perspective in the future. Your comments and questions give me life. Let me know what you're interested in reading about!
> 
> Title of the fic is a lyric from "Monster In Me" by Little Mix, which is my Official Tsukikage Love Song. I listen to this [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2FPxfNQLXihGGO5e6d55Ag?si=zOev0JFYRMmR0QEkpWYNAA) on repeat whenever I write these fics and it hasn't gotten old yet.
> 
> Follow me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/kelidahauk) if you haven't already and feel free to slide into my DMs... I love talking with you hookers. Wait. Only if you're 18+ though. If you're younger than that, you shouldn't be reading this nastiness, anyway.
> 
> We have a TKKG Thirst Discord server! [Come join us to chat about TKKG!](https://discord.gg/7wGBcyH) Only 18+ and older, please; there is a lot of NSFW content there.


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